


Ghost notes

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Drama, Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-09
Updated: 2008-04-09
Packaged: 2018-12-27 12:11:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12080802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Just a little something about Brian's past, present and future. Be sure to let me know what you think. Chose R just to be safe on the strong language.





	Ghost notes

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

“You know, one of these days, you’re gonna push too far, Bri.” Brian just turned his back on Justin walking out of the backroom, slipping another E under his tongue and leaning back his head to enjoy the blowjob. The trick wasn’t half bad at giving head and the E certainly was pretty damn good quality. Brian wouldn’t have admitted it, but he kinda agreed with Justin when he felt the immediate effect of the drug cursing through his bloodstream. 

The crap dance music seemed to vibrate through his veins and the trick’s tongue on his cock sent shivers all over his body.  Eventually, he pushed away, zipping up his pants and making his way out of the club. 

Fresh air seemed a good idea after all this. He barely made it past the bouncers and out into the alley behind Babylon before he had to hold onto a wall. Immediately, another guy eyed him, feeling him up. “Not interested,” he mumbled, his teeth clenched, trying hard not to throw up all over the hunk in front of him. 

He needed to get home. He needed Justin, who would always take him back and get him to bed, even though he was sure there would be some sort of public service announcement in the morning about popping that amount of pills within a couple of hours.  

* * *

He woke with a start, suddenly finding the alley deserted and the grey, colourless light of early morning surrounding him. Surprised, he realized his head didn’t hurt one bit. ‘It really must have been damn good E’, he thought to himself. 

“Ready, sonny boy?” The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, but after a moment, Jack stepped out of the low mist. “What the fuck? You’re dead!” His father didn’t comment, but he did look uncomfortable for a split second, as though he had been reminded of something he’d rather forget. 

Brian dragged his hand through his hair, exasperated. “What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing. Here.” he repeated, carefully stressing every syllable.  “”Just a visit to see how you’re doing, Sonny Boy. How’s that fancy job of yours?” Brian laughed. “Shit. Don’t tell me you came to borrow money.” 

Jack didn’t respond. He just stared at his son, his expression a mixture of the always present anger and frustration and something else. Something Brian didn’t remember ever seeing before. “So what do you want?” “Come with me.”, the old man gestured for Brian to follow, and after a moment’s hesitation, he did. ‘This is just a dream, he kept telling himself. Fuckin’ E.’ 

They left the alley and without any sign of a journey, suddenly stood right in the middle of a living room. Nothing had changed in here for over 20 years, it was bland, boring and had an air of neglect and indifference to it that Brian remembered all to well. “What the fuck do you think we’re doing? A cheerful little trip down memory lane? Get me the fuck out!” 

Despite his objections, Brian couldn’t move. He was rooted to the spot, watching as Jack went over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a generous measure of beam.  Jack suddenly looked younger and somehow, the light in the room had changed. It looked almost like it had looked nearly two decades ago, like a scene from a movie, brighter and more colourful then it had ever been, as though someone had tampered with the remote control and not quite gotten the balance right.   

Brian stood there without moving a muscle as he saw himself walking in through the back door. Not the hot stud of Liberty Avenue, but an image of how he must have looked all those years ago. He’d worked hard on forgetting, but there he was, about ten years old, oddly handsome even in his torn jeans and worn t-shirt, a guarded look in his eyes as he saw his father standing there cradling the shot glass. 

 

 

Brian’s grown-up self watched the scene unfold, he couldn’t hear the exchange of words, but some sort of argument was obviously developing and before long, Jack’s face darkened perceptibly while the young boy stubbornly stood his ground, glaring daggers at his father although he could barely conceal the fear in his eyes. Jack poured himself another drink, downed it hastily and threw the glass into the direction of his son, smashing it against the wall behind him.  

Brian, his older self, could almost feel the small bits of broken glass on his neck, digging into his skin. The light changed once again and they were alone, Jack standing there, looking old and broken, a faint stain on the wall still indicating the place where that glass had smashed all those years ago. “Ready for round two, Sonny Boy?” Brian gritted his teeth and nodded, in spite of himself. He really didn’t want to be here, but he’d die before admitting that those memories still held any kind of power over him. “Bring it on.”  

They were upstairs suddenly, in his old room. It was cluttered with all sorts of things that had been dumped here over the years, but once again, the surroundings changed quickly, back into a semblance of what the place had looked like while he’d been growing up.  

He was a bit older this time, maybe about 13. Lying on the bed, he was immersed in a comic book, no doubt something he’d borrowed from Michael. He leaved through the pages and occasionally, a smile would betray he enjoyed his read, even though his adult self would obviously have denied he could have been entertained that easily. 

Once again, a silent scene played out before Brian’s eyes, his father stumbling into the room and coming straight for him, pulling him off the bed, punching him, pushing him down to the floor, kicking him as he curled up, trying to at least shield his face in the onslaught.  It vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving the cluttered room with Jack standing next to the window, staring out into the bleak eerie light through the cobwebs. 

“Holy shit. You really fucked me up. Dad.” Brian sneered, emphasising the last word sarcastically. “How can I ever thank you?” Jack simply turned around. “Still want more, Sonny Boy?” Once again, against his better judgement, Brian nodded. He was not going to give in, no matter what. “Can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.” he grumbled.  

This time, there wasn’t a scene playing out before his eyes as though he was watching some bad 80’s TV drama. All he got was a flood of pictures in rapid succession, almost like someone had turned on a strobe light and every time it flashed the setting had changed, the only constant feature being that it was always a display of his father and himself. 

Jack pushing him down the stairs, looming over him with a belt in his hand, banging his head against the wall, spitting on him as he was lying on the floor with tears streaming down his face. Jack, time and time again, hurting him. “MAKE IT STOP! I CAN’T FUCKING TAKE THIS!” he screamed eventually, and the pictures came to a halt immediately. 

“Show ain’t over, Sonny Boy. One more.” The surroundings changed again and Brian realized they were standing in the middle of his loft. The sun was coming up and Justin was sitting on the couch, smoking a cigarette, completely lost in thought. He looked like he had been crying. He looked so much more vulnerable then Brian had ever seen him. He extinguished the cigarette and glanced toward the door. “Shit, Bri,” he mumbled. “Just come home. I love you. Fucker.”  

Brian turned round slowly, looking at Jack quizzically. “What was that for?” Jack shrugged. “That stuff earlier was your hell. This is mine.”  

* * *

Brian felt someone pull him up. “Fuck, man! You’ve had a couple too many. Get out of here. You wouldn’t wanna be unconscious in an alley with an ass like that!” Brian got to his feet, pushing the stranger away. “Fuck off. I’m fine.” 

He hailed a cab, knowing that someone who had just spent an unknown amount of time in an alley watching movies with his dead old man probably shouldn’t be driving and got off at the loft.  He walked up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator, and opened the door. 

It really was morning now and the sun was rising, basking the place in a golden glow. Justin really was sitting on the couch, staring out of the window. He didn’t bother looking up as Brian made his way over and he didn’t move when he felt the arms of the older man embracing him from behind. 

“Justin?” “Hey. Had a good night?” “Justin, look at me. Please?” The blonde turned around, concerned by the urgent tone of his lover’s voice. “What is it, Bri?” “I…shit. I love you, Justin. I love you so fucking much. I fucked up. I’m sorry.” Justin smirked uncertainly, not wanting to betray how much he had needed to hear those words. “Sorry’s bullshit, Brian. Remember?” Brian just buried his head in Justin’s shoulder, allowing himself to be held.


End file.
